The Plantation House
by blue peanut m and m
Summary: Missing teens, an old plantation house, what could possibly go wrong? Dean's about to find out as the brother's take on a hunt he was reluctant to pursue. Hurt Sam. Hurt Dean.
1. Chapter 1

**The Plantation House.**

**Summary. . . . . . . . . Missing teens, an old slave plantation, what could possibly go wrong? Dean's about to find out as the brother's take on a hunt he was reluctant to pursue. Hurt Sam and Dean.**

**Disclaimer. . . . . . . . Still only playing in Kripkies toy box.**

**A.N. . . . . . . . So I had a break away and spent some time with Darksupernatural down in Maryland. While I was there she showed me, from a distance, an old plantation house and slave cabin. Later I asked her to write me a scene and I would complete a one shot to go with it, she did but I have failed! It's gonna be longer than a one shot, Kris, sorry. Anyway here's the start, beware of a couple of bad words! As always I thank you all for stopping by and reading, catch you soon with part two, Peanut x**

Dean had a bad feeling about this hunt. Ever since they had arrived in this small town in rural Maryland, something about the place had sent shivers down his spine, and a coil of apprehension to grip itself tightly in his stomach. It seemed simple enough, disappearances occurring in the town, teenagers, the bodies of the missing never found, all occurring after they had been dared to visit what the town called it's house of shame; an old plantation house and the slave cabin that stood eerily next to it. He had tried to insist to Sam that it wasn't their kind of gig, but his brother had been adamant, especially after reading about the last missing person, an eight year old boy. Wanting to escape from the bullying he received daily he had ran into the broken down house, he pursuers to chicken to follow, never to be seen again. So he had agreed to take a look, the unease he had been feeling increasing as they stepped out of the Impala and started grabbing the things they thought they might need.

Walking through the door, Sam eased by the rotting wood as it hung from hinges long since broken and rusted. He pulled the sawed off shotgun up instinctively as he stepped into a room, his feet disturbing dust that had lain idly for years, his eyes squinting as the brilliant sunset glinted off the dust motes that rose and floated lazily with every pass of his feet. He moved slowly forward, like a well trained soldier, as Dean followed closely behind, the older Winchester clearing the area as he swept the barrel of his own gun around the entry of the decrepit plantation house. Sam waited for his brother to fully enter before gesturing towards the back of the room and another sagging doorway, a set of stairs just seen in the gloom leading down towards the bowels of the house.

Dean's big brother instinct kicked in as he took in the blackness that lay behind the second door. Taking the lead and casting a wary glance at Sam he moved forward, holding the gun expertly in one hand as he pulled out a flashlight with his other and quickly turned it on. As he reached the doorway, he used silent signals to inform Sam of his intentions before quietly pushing the decaying wood to one side and easing his way down the stairs, wincing as they creaked and protested under the weight that was being put upon them, his feet automatically trying to find the sturdiest parts before Sam's heavier weight was placed upon them, yet more and more dust rising until the air began to feel choked with it.

He paused near the bottom as he heard Sam curse behind him, wondering what was wrong until he felt it himself, a chill that began to raise the fine hairs on the back of his neck. Stepping of the last tread and onto the dirt packed floor of the basement, he paused as his flashlight panned over the cobweb infested walls, insects scurrying away from the harshness of the beam, scurries of small feet sounding deafening in the otherwise quiet, as rodents hurried to hide. As the light swept over the far side of the room the glint of something attracted Dean's attention, the light returning as he investigated the objects further.

"Sonofabitch!" He angrily cried as he took in the sight that befell him. Two metal barred cages stood at opposite sides of the west wall, rotting threadbare blankets scattered across the floor, the sizes only just fit enough for large dogs; but as he took in the rest of the wall, Dean knew no dog had ever spent time there. In the vast space between the two cages shackles were imbedded into the course walls at various heights, chosen to inflict the most discomfort and pain to the person restrained there. Stepping closer he could even see the stains left behind from the blood that had been spilt.

"Damn" Sam breathed, causing Dean to turn and look at what his own flashlight had discovered. A small workbench stood against the north wall, an assortment of vicious looking implements tossed idly across it's top. Hooks, some dangling from the crumbling foundations, others still fixed solidly to the walls, held bullwhips, crops, belts and rods of differing sizes.

"This guy was one sick bastard. I think it's time to put him down." Dean spoke, pausing on the last word as his breath fogged before his eyes. He turned quickly to warn Sam, feeling his brother brush him as the temperature plummeted within the room. He grunted as he was slammed into the stone walls, the gun falling from his fingers as they uncurled instinctively. "Sam!" He cried, attempting to lift the gun again, only for it to be knocked from his hands to fall uselessly into the darkness, as he was once again flung with force, this time into the opposite wall. "I'll teach ya t' mind thy tongue boy." He heard before he fell into oblivion.

The pain registered as he fought his way through layers of consciousness, every inch of him resonating with an agony that caused his face to scrunch up, and small moans to be emitted. Attempting to open his eyes, forgetting for a moment where he was, he wondered why he couldn't see, his lids closing as his hands moved to rub wearily at his sockets before he tried again. Finally realizing he was in the dark somewhere, he moved his limbs desperate to stretch out the kinks he could feel, only to stop as his feet collided with an unmovable object. Moving into a sitting position he struggled to stand, his pounding head protesting the move, even more so as it soon collided with yet another solid structure. Having learnt his lesson he began to feel around, remembrance occurring as his fingers trailed across the cold steel bars of the cage, and the callous words of the plantation's overseer repeated themselves in his mind. With that memory came another, Sam. Sam was with him, but where was he now?

"Sammy?" He bellowed, not caring if the fugly heard him or not, he just had to hear his brother's voice, just needed to be reassured that Sam was alright. But all he got in return to his shout was the scurrying rats as they were disturbed yet again. "Sammy! C'mon god damn it! Answer me!"

"He can't answer thee boy. He preoccupied at the moment."

"You bastard! What have you done with him? If you've hurt him, I swear I will kill you, salt and burn you, raise you back from the dead, and repeat the whole process!"

The overseer just laughed at Dean's threats, choosing instead to drag a pole across the bars of the cell holding his prisoner. "I ain't done much yet boy, but me and pretty we gonna have us some fun. I's jus waitin' fer him to wake. I wanna see his eyes as he's teached a lesson."

"Don't you dare touch him! I swear I will make you pay if you've hurt even an inch of him!"

"Why, don't we have us a feisty one? It's a shame I didn't pick ya to mess with, but this one 'ere he looks like a screamer, and I aint had me a screamer in a long, long time."

"Please?" Dean begged, as he heard the spirit talk about hurting Sam. "Please, don't hurt him. Use me."

Again though the man just laughed, his chilling rumble filling the room, only to stop as groans and chains rattling caught his attention. "Well it looks like we about t' ave us a party boy."

"You sonofabitch! Don't you dare touch him." Dean shouted, desperately pulling at the bars that held him, not caring as bits of rust embedded deeply into the tender skin of his palms.

"Sammy! Sammy!" Dean shouted again, urgently needing his sibling to know he was there, even if he could do nothing to prevent what was about to occur."

"D'e?" Sam's confused and pained voice finally responded, the rattling of the chains intensifying as the confusion slipped away slightly, to be replaced be trepidation. "Dean?"

"I'm here Sam, I'm here. Are you okay?"

"Dean? Answer me! Dean, please talk to me. Dean!?"

Dean froze as Sam's words sunk in. He was talking to his brother, he was reassuring him that he was there. What was going on?

"Well will ya looky at that, I guess I hit 'im a tad harder than I wanted, musta messed his head, now aint that a treat?"

"Fuck!" Dean ground out between gritted teeth, his attack on the steel bars intensifying as he listened to Sam continue to plead for him to answer. "Don't do this." He begged, not wanting to satisfy the vile man, but willing to do anything to save his brother further pain. The man though just waked away to Dean's left and into the darkness. He strained his eyes to see even a glimpse of his brother, but the blackness was oppressive, coating everything within a few feet of the cage. He stopped his attempts to break the cage as he heard the faint scrape of sound from the opposite side of the room, the side he now remembered contained the wall and table of implements. "Nooooooooooo! Don't!" He screamed as he realized the callous man's intent. But it was no use, and all he could do was grip harder to the bars as he listened to the man tear apart Sam's clothing before the sickening sound of coiled rope attacking flesh resounding throughout the room, only abating as Sam's screams of agony replaced it.

To be continued. . . . . . . . . .

**A.N. . . . . . . . I forgot to say, any spelling mistakes when the overseer is talking are intentional. Oh, and I hate the title so if anyone has any ideas, let me know? I hope that you enjoyed, Peanut x**


	2. Chapter 2

**The Plantation House.**

**Summary. . . . . . . . . Missing teens, an old slave plantation, what could possibly go wrong? Dean's about to find out as the brother's take on a hunt he was reluctant to pursue. Hurt Sam and Dean. **

**Disclaimer. . . . . . . . Still only playing in Kripkies toy box.**

**A.N. . . . . . . . . Thanks to everyone who read, reviewed, added to favs, or alerts. I hope that you find chapter 2 just as enjoyable. Peanut x**

Dean rattled the cage harder, his hands pulling for all he was worth at the confines, as Sam's screams of agony rent through the air, the cries clashing with his own angry shouts to echo noisily around the otherwise cold, still and silent room. He shouted louder, anything to drown out the vicious sound of the whip attacking flesh, and his brother's whimpered cries and grunts as he finally lost the strength to scream any longer, as the pain took hold and he fell into blessed unconsciousness; Dean's own shouts still ringing out though, as the overseer refused to stop even after Sam had passed out, the man carrying on his brutal assault on his completely defenseless, and unresponsive captive; enjoying the pain his strikes caused the other. Finally after what seemed like hours to Dean, the punishment stopped. His ears attuned, making up for the fact his eyes were blinded by the darkness, Dean became alert as faint noises caught his attention, the sound of rope brushing against rope, before a scraping signaled it the whip had been stored again. Worn leather scuffing across dirt as the man returned to where Dean believed Sam to be. A clink of chain again metal. A thud as something heavy impacted with the floor,. The dragging of something heavy. A snick of a lock catching. So caught was he, trying to figure out what the sounds meant, he failed to notice the air get chillier until the overseer face was mere millimeters from his own, the sneering grin plastered beneath eyes that held nothing but sadism and cruelty.

"I told ya I'd make ya pay fer ya words. I think I'll wait awhile fer seconds though, wouldn't wanna kill the boy off too soon." He allowed the words to sink in, soaking in the anger and rage and guilt that rose from Dean as they did so." Bringing up the rod he had taken from it's place on the wall, he slammed it hard into Dean's cheekbone, quivering with excitement as he heard the fragile bone snap beneath his assault, and watched as his captives eyes began to roll back into his head. "I'll go fer now boy, but I'll allow ya some comfort, I'll leave a candle burning fer ya to see what's become of ya partner." Dean attempted to stay awake as he listened to the man's words, the need to see his brother's almost overpowering the hurt, but the blow had stunned him too much and the pain was agonizing and as he witnessed the room start to lighten, his eyes began to close, unconsciousness claiming him.

He dreamed of simpler times, happier times; times when he laughed, when his brother laughed; times when cuts, bumps and bruises were fixed by band aids, snuggles and comfort. Those times were long since gone though, replaced by hurried repair jobs made in flea ridden motel rooms, or the back seat of the Impala with blankets strewn across the leather to preserve the seats. As the pain and the discomfort began to return now though, Dean wished those times would return again. He shifted as best he could within the limits of his prison, his hand moving sluggishly to paw at his busted cheek, the digits moving more slowly, tenderly, after he prodded too hard and causing his features to scrunch up in pain. He lay still, as his stomach began to slosh and roll, breathing calmly through his mouth as his stuffed up nose prevented breathing through it. The remnants of the memories he had just dreamt, prevented him for a second from remembering where he was, and who he was with. Sam.

He sat up quickly, the room spinning wildly as the pain increased in his head, his eyes scanning the less gloomy room, the candle he could see flickering on the workbench casting light, but doing little to ease the shadows. Turning his face towards where he remembered seeing the shackles attached to the wall, Dean wailed as he glimpsed his brother limp form, Sam so still Dean thought for a moment he was dead. Hanging from the shackles suspended so high his toes were barely touching the floor. His clothes were drenched in his blood and sweat, his shirt barely more than a rag draped across his torso. His head drooped to his chest, hair plastered to his scalp and hanging loosely over his eyes, hiding them from Dean's sight. Rents and slashes covered his upper body and arms, even seen through tears in his jeans in places. The blood still seeping lazily from the wounds, the only sign Dean had that Sam still lived. But it wasn't enough, he had to see Sam awake.

Digging deeply into his pockets, Dean withdrew the handful of change that nestled there. Scuttling closer to the edge of the cage, he reached through the bars and one by one began to lob the small coins at his brother, praying each time, as the pile grew smaller and smaller, that this time the hit would awaken Sam; the pile getting down to two before his brother finally shifted, his cry of pain echoing loudly in the stillness.

"Sam? Sam?" Dean shouted as he watched Sam lift his head, concerned when he didn't respond to his calls. "Sammy!?"

Sam woke slowly, the agony resonating throughout his body willing him to stay in the dark where it was warm and pain free, but small yet painful pings of his head kept preventing him from falling back into oblivion. He raised his head, hoping that he could find the source of his discomfort, and looked with glassy eyes, eyes that were filled with pain, around the dimly lit room, distress etching his features as at first he could find no sign of his brother. "Dean? Deeeeeeaaaaannnnn!" He shouted, his own feeble struggles increasing as he heard nothing, not one sound.

"Sammy? Look at me. I'm here, over here." Dean's anxiousness increased as Sam still continued to gaze wildly about the basement, yet not seeming to catch him within the cage, and ignoring his calls. What the hell? Using one of the coins again, he threw it harder at his brother, finally able to achieve what his calls hadn't, as Sam's gaze turned and landed on him, a weary, pained yet happy smile briefly crossing his lips.

"Dean, you okay?" Sam asked.

Dean laughed at his brother's ability to always concern himself with others when he was bleeding slowly. "I'm fine Sam." He answered, not missing the confusion that marred his siblings face as he spoke.

"Dean! Dean, I can't hear you. Dean, what's happening?" He replied, his head turning more allowing his sibling to finally see the blood that was still dribbling from a wound hidden beneath the mop that he called hair.

"Shit!" He cursed the expletives worsening as realization hit. Sam had been hit. Sam had been hit hard, and judging from the bruises that were forming, been hit with the rod the overseer loved to rattle across his cage. "You stinking lily livered bastard!" He yelled before turning his attention back to Sam, who he was saddened to see had shrunk at his outburst, unable to hear the words but registering his brother's anger, and feeling somehow it was his fault. "Sam. . . . . . . ." He just managed to get out before the room began to chill once more, a signal to Dean that the spirit was back. "I'm going to kill you for what you've done, you cowardly piece of crap."

"Still mouthin' ya trap I see. What's say we see if we can shut ya up fer a bit shall we? But first, seein' as ya love at talk, what should I's use on ya partner this time? A chain? Should I choke 'im until he passes? Or a knife? Rip it into the juicy flesh until 'e screeches like a woman?"

"You leave him alone. Do you hear me? Leave him alone!"

"You's in no position to be talkin' like that at me boy. Ya will learn ya place son, and I's be the one at teach ya. Let this be lesson number two." Picking up the chain, he started to walk to where Sam hung, only to stop as though in thought. Looking back Dean's way, he added. "I think it only fitting me an ya partner do this in private, but ya can listen." Blowing out the candle he plunged the room back into darkness, leaving Dean to listen once more to Sam's screams as he began to cut into his body. The last thing he saw, his brother's scared and begging eyes, burnt into his mind.

To Be Continued. . . . . . . . . . .

**A.N. . . . . . . . As always thanks for stopping by and reading, will be back soon with an update, Peanut x**


	3. Chapter 3

**The Plantation House.**

**Summary. . . . . . . . . Missing teens, an old slave plantation, what could possibly go wrong? Dean's about to find out as the brother's take on a hunt he was reluctant to pursue. Hurt Sam and Dean. **

**Disclaimer. . . . . . . . Still only playing in Kripkies toy box.**

**A.N. . . . . . . . . Thanks to everyone who read, reviewed, added to favs, or alerts. I hope that you find chapter 3 just as enjoyable. Peanut x**

Exhausted and weary beyond belief, Dean groaned as he awakened his mind taking a few minutes to catch up and remind him of the predicament both he and Sam now found themselves in; guilt crushing him when he finally remembered. How could he have fallen asleep when Sam was so badly hurt? How could he have rested when his brother was probably still chained in that gad awful position? He opened his eyes, hoping that the overseer had at least relit the candle and he could see just how much damage had been inflicted upon his sibling this time, thankful for that one small grace when he noticed the man had indeed left the small wax mound burning, all be it at the far side of the room, it's flame doing little to lessen the shadows where Dean knew Sam lay. He moved as close to the bar once again, hoping that by doing so he could make out Sam's injuries all the more, saddened when his eyes finally grew used to the dimness and he could make out the crumpled frame of his brother.

Lying on his side, his torso now bare, his shirt now little more that a tattered heap by his legs, his body turned instinctively towards where he knew Dean was caged, Sam lay in what Dean could only guess was a pool of his own blood on the dirt strewn floor. His shackles remained fixed tightly around his wrists and ankles, but Dean was grateful for the fact that they no longer chained also to the wall. In the gloom, Dean couldn't assess his brother as good as he would have liked too, but what he could see chilled him to the bone, causing shivers to course through him. Sam was literally covered in his own blood, the only part of him spared, his pale and pain riddled face, contrasting harshly with the crimson that decorated him. Dean could just make out the carvings the overseer had created with his knife, the guilty feelings increasing as he remembered the man's words about punishing Sam for the words that had fallen Dean's own lips. The wounds were messy, and deep, and still oozing blood; blood that Dean knew Sam was losing too much of. They ran from his hip bone to roughly the bottom of his ribs, two jagged lines hacked into the tender flesh, and Dean had a feeling two more would parallel on the side of Sam he couldn't see. His eyes watered at the thought of the agony Sam must have gone through, and what had he done to save him? Nothing! Sure he'd rattled the bars, and shouted expletives, but what had that really achieved but more pain for Sam; Sam who at this minute looked on deaths door, his hair plastered in sweaty strands against his head, his breathing quick and short as though even in unconsciousness he was feeling pain, the only indication to Dean that they were even there were the little plumes of dust they created as they hit the floor. Dean had no doubt Sam was suffering, and he knew the longer they were trapped here the worse he was going to get.

Tearing his eyes reluctantly away from his stricken sibling, he began to scour his small confines looking for anything that could help him achieve his escape, gloom and despair engulfing him when after twenty minutes of fruitless searching he had still come up with nothing. He looked back at his sibling, knowing it would be hard for Sam yet hoping that he had awakened and could help with the search, or at least check the table that held all the instruments; but his brother was still entrapped within his mind, his body having shut down in order to preserve itself. Dean growled deeply, his feet kicking out at the bars that held him, this was useless, how the hell were they gonna get out of this mess. He knew he shouldn't feel this way, that getting emotional wouldn't help either him and especially not Sam, but he couldn't help it, Sam was hurt, Sam was dying and Dean's natural big brotherness couldn't allow that to happen, but what could he do? So consumed with the need to help Sam, Dean didn't feel at first the chill once more descend upon the cellar.

"I sees thee awake boy. I hears thee making a racket agin."

Dean spun towards the voice as it spoke, a renewed determination to keep it's attention upon him and away from Sam stirring inside him. "Why are you doing this?" He asked, not really expecting an answer.

"I's born t' do this boy. I's good at it, makin' all them pesky creatures work fer a livin' by roughin' em up a bit, it makes me happy."

"You sick shit!" Dean shot back, calming his anger for fear of retribution against Sam, he added in a smaller voice. "And now? Why are you still here? Why are you attacking us?"

"I's knows ya wanna send me away boy, but I's happy ere. Plus it's fun." The man shot back before walking, laughing, into the gloom once more.

Dean once more controlled his anger at the man's brutal words that hurting Sam was fun to him, he knew he would gain little from losing it now. He looked back at his sibling, willing himself to gain strength for what he needed to do from his brother, before turning back to where the overseer had disappeared to and shouting. "You're a coward, you know that. Nothing but a yellow bellied coward. You're lower than the people you used to torture, you're not even worthy to speak their names. You're spineless, gutless and weak." He shot back from the bars as the apparition suddenly appeared before him, the spirits face twisted in anger.

"I's should cut ya a new one boy, but I's thinks I's gets more pleasure from t'other one."

Dean cringed as he felt his plan had failed, cringed as he wondered just what pain Sam would have to withstand now, but for once fate was on his side. Annoyed at the fact that Sam was dead to the world, and showing no signs of awakening any time soon, the man turned back Dean's way and sneered. "Well boy, it looks like it's me and thee, and things are about t' get hot."

Wondering just what the man had in store for him, Dean's eyes widened as the room began to lighten even more, a furnace in the far corner suddenly firing up and casting it's light, banishing the darkness. He watched as the spirit walked over to his table of torture and picked up the wooden handle of a long rod of iron, it's end flattened into a sign of some sort. Still happy that the attention was away from Sam, Dean watched as the man pushed the flattened end into the flames that were burning strongly, twisting the rod around and around so as to disturb the coals and gain better heat. Pulling it out after a few minutes, he turned and walked back towards the caged older brother, Dean backing away as much as he could from the red-hot glowing end of the brand.

"Don't run little boy." The man spoke as he got closer and closer. "Ya really have no where t' hide." He added as he thrust the brand through the cage aiming for Dean's chest.

Dean reacted instinctively, his arm shooting out to push the brand away from his torso, crying out in agony as fire erupted from the limb as it connected with the heat. Impulsively he cradled the limb to his chest and curled slightly leaving his side open to attack. He cried out again as the brand found it's mark, the blazing iron quickly eating it's way through his shirts to attack the skin beneath, his flesh bubbling and blistering instantly beneath the onslaught, the pain unimaginable, the only thought he could think of over the pain, that at least it wasn't Sam. As the rod was removed, only to be pushed down again on his over sensitive skin, Dean cried out once more and willed the darkness that was beginning to form to take him completely under, thankful when after a few more minutes of agony his body seemed to listen and things slowly began to shut down. His mind was just on the verge of unconsciousness, as he saw a shape begin to appear behind the overseer, his brother's waxen features, angered at the torture Dean was receiving, focused on the man inflicting it. As Dean succumbed to the agony he could only hope that Sam's own instinct to protect his brother wouldn't, in the end, cost him dearly.

To Be Continued. . . . . . . . . .

**A.N. . . . . . . . . . Thanks again for stopping by, will be back soon with more, Peanut x**


	4. Chapter 4

**The Plantation House.**

**Summary. . . . . . . . . Missing teens, an old slave plantation, what could possibly go wrong? Dean's about to find out as the brother's take on a hunt he was reluctant to pursue. Hurt Sam and Dean.**

**Disclaimer. . . . . . . . Still only playing in Kripkies toy box.**

**A.N. . . . . . . . . Thanks to everyone who read, reviewed, added to favs, or alerts. I'd just like to apologize for the lack of responses, real life has been harsh this week and I've found little or no time to even switch on my computer. Hopefully things will begin to settle down now though and I will be able to get back to thanking you all personally. Peanut x**

Sam lay on the grass in the quad outside his dorm rooms, Jess' fingers running through his hair, relaxing him into a blissful slumber once again. He turned his body, curling himself more into hers as all thoughts and feelings began to ebb away and he surrendered to the darkness that was constantly pulling him; something though refused to let him fall into the blackness, a feeling tickling the back of his mind, a feeling that this wasn't right. He battled within himself, forcing his way through the cobwebs that crowded his mind, trying desperately to reach the one that irritated him, a part of him wishing he could just scratch it away and stay here where everything was perfect, the rest of him needing to know just what this feeling was. As he fought closer to the itch, it teased and danced further away bringing his mind back from the dark brink and more into awareness. Thoughts became clearer, feelings more stronger, pains more agonizing. He struggled to return to Jess and the place where he felt nothing, but still that itch remained growing and teasing all the more, snippets began to leak there way out, snippets of an abandoned house, of darkness, of pain, of Dean.

"Dean." Sam whispered out, the one word breaking a path through all the fog and allowing him to finally see reality. He groaned softly, as the agonizing pain he was feeling let itself be known once again, his body curling into a small ball in an attempt to escape from the spikes that lanced throughout his frame, groaning again as it reignited the fiery spasms. He called out again for his brother, the sound little more than a whisper, needing his comfort and reassurances but all he received in return was a silence so thick it deafened him. Remembrance hit hard then, his mind recalling speaking earlier with Dean, yet unable to hear his brother's voice talking back; even when Dean had shouted, Sam able to tell from his brothers movements, all he had heard was his own heart thudding in his ears. Panic began to take hold of him, his breathing coming too fast, his vision blurring as his body began to once again shut down, but that every present itch was once again refusing to allow him to give in; something was wrong, something was wrong with Dean.

For the first time since awakening he opened his eyes, groaning yet again as even that small achievement caused pain, a drum solo banging away in his head, and a tsunami erupting in his stomach, his eyes automatically clenching back closed in an effort to ease his discomfort, but the need to see Dean, to gain the comfort even one glance of his brother would bring was stronger, biting back his distress he once again peeled open unwilling lids, the panic that had been ever present since his awakening harshly returning when for a moment he thought his sight, along with his hearing, had been damaged, his beaten mind taking a few minutes to remember he was in the dark. As he waited for his eyes to adjust he wet his mouth with what little moisture he could muster in an attempt to shout out louder his brother's name, the word sticking on the tip of his tongue as brotherly intuition told him to stop. Moving slowly, not wanting to draw attention to the fact he was awake, or to exacerbate his already agonizing injuries, he turned back towards where he thought he remembered Dean being, all his pain, his fears and his distress abating as he took in the sight before him, to be replaced by infuriating anger; anger at seeing the abuse his sibling was receiving.

Forcing his body to move, he stood on legs that suddenly seemed stronger and began to inch his way forward, his movements cumbersome and slow due to the shackles, no plan in mind other then to save Dean. The closer he got the more he remembered the reason why they were here, the missing teens, the spirit, and the old plantation house. Grabbing an old rusted iron scythe, most of it's handle long since rotted away, he edged even closer, seeing recognition glow in his brothers eyes as he towered behind the spirit. Using all the strength he had left he brought the blade down in a vicious curve, that would have hacked deeply into flesh if the man would have had any, instead dissipating the spirit instantly. The momentum was too much though for Sam's already weakened body, and the lack of cohesive form to stop the wild swing, caused him to lose his balance, his battered body striking the solid metal of Dean's cage harshly, causing wounds to reignite in fiery spasms. As his head cracked viciously against the unforgiving bars, his knees gave way and he crashed heavily to the floor, a scream of agony ripping it's way from his mouth.

Dean forced himself to fight against the blackness that was threatening to drag him under as he watched his sibling grow bigger behind the spirit. He tried his best to keep the overseer's focus on himself as he watched Sam raise a scythe and aimed it for the man's back; pride swelling inside of him for the feat his brother had achieved. He breathed a sigh of relief as the ghost dissipated and the burning agony he was succumbing to eased, allowing his body some respite and his mind to fight harder to remain awake knowing the wouldn't have much time. He started to move closer towards the bars, groaning as his wounds protested, his actions increasing in speed as a long thud echoed throughout the otherwise silent room, his eyes glancing up in time to witness Sam's ungainly slump to the ground. Forgetting all else he rushed to the bars, thankful that he could reach his sibling through his metal confine, thankful also that Sam was still awake. Hating himself for what he was about to do, he reached through the bars and began to slap at Sam's cheek, shouting his name at the same time, forgetting for a moment that Sam could not hear him, only remembering as Sam's eyes finally rested on his own, and his voice shouted out his name, his senses overcompensating for his loss of hearing.

"DEAN? YOU OKAY?"

Knowing that Sam couldn't hear him, Dean resorted to hand signals, his thumb and index finger joining in a sign to say he was. He panicked as he watched Sam begin to give in to exhaustion safe in the knowledge that he was okay, his hand reaching back to once again pat at Sam's cheek, frantically trying to get Sam to understand once his eyes were once more focused upon himself. Pointing over to the bench he signaled for his brother to retrieve their weapons, knowing that the shotgun was at least loaded with rock salt, and that the blast would cause more damage to the spirit, and that the time between reappearances would increase. He felt guilty as he watched Sam finally understand his actions, watched as his brother's face fell as he poured over the enormity of the task being asked of him; guilty that he was the one asking, but this was the only way. His heart broke as Sam turned tearful eyes his way and whispered.

"I can't do this Dean. I'm so sorry I can't do this."

Knowing his brother couldn't hear him, Dean spoke anyway hoping that the urgency in his features would spur Sam on. "You have to Sam! It's the only way!" He watched as Sam looked again at what was being asked of his broken body, watched as his brother began to slowly rise, watched as a mist began to form from the breaths Sam was pushing out. He tried to shout out a warning, tried to reach through the bars, but it wasn't enough and he could only watch as the overseer's form coalesced before his distracted brother. He cried out again as the spirits hands reached for Sam's neck, fury rising in him at the thought of Sam once again getting hurt, his eyes turning away from the scene as he searched for anything that could help his brother, turning back as he heard a swish ring through the air, pride swelling once more as he witnessed his ailing brother once more banish the spirit. The effort though was too much for his brother, his body finally giving in to blood loss, pain and fatigue crashing back to the ground. Dean reached again through the bars, but try as he might nothing he did would rouse his sibling.

Defeat resonated from everyone of his pores, his shoulders slumping, his aches intensifying, as he thought they had failed once more, his mind already torturing him with images of what would be done to Sam in punishment for his actions. He slumped to the floor and began to give up, his body shutting down, his eyes rising to take one last look at his brother's prone form, a smile forming on his lips as he spotted something the spirit had obviously missed. Reaching as far as he could through the metal prison, he tried desperately to hook a finger into the back pocket of his brother's jeans, crying out in frustration when his first few attempts failed. Stretching even further, ignoring the piercing ache that resonated throughout his shoulder, he tried to gain just a few more inches, a choked cry leaving his lips as he finally succeeded. Using all his strength he began to pull at the packet his brother always kept handy, his actions intensifying as the seconds passed, his fingers clumsy as he tried to hurry and beat the return of the spirit. He stopped as he felt the air in the room begin to chill, his breaths becoming plumes as they left his body, his hand reaching instead for the scythe Sam had dropped behind him as he fell, dragging it closer to the cage. As the overseer returned once more, Dean feigned unconsciousness, his hand dropping the scythe, yet still keeping it within reach, waiting for the right moment to strike.

Angered by Sam, the spirit paid little to no attention to Dean as he strode over to the youngest Winchester, giving Dean the freedom he needed. As the spirit bent over Sam, Dean struck quickly dropping the iron blade even before the man had disappeared, and turning his actions back onto getting Sam's lock picks from his pocket. He crawled over to his cages door, after he finally succeeded and after taking a few seconds to calm his nerves, began working on the lock and his and Sam's freedom.

To be continued. . . . . . . . . .

**A.N. . . . . . . . . . I hope that you all enjoyed chapter 4, will be back soon with more, catch you later, Peanut x**


	5. Chapter 5

**The Plantation House.**

**Summary. . . . . . . . . Missing teens, an old slave plantation, what could possibly go wrong? Dean's about to find out as the brother's take on a hunt he was reluctant to pursue. Hurt Sam and Dean. **

**Disclaimer. . . . . . . . Still only playing in Kripkies toy box.**

**A.N. . . . . . . . . Still having a struggle with real life at the moment, so I'm finding it hard to fit writing into everything else I have going on. Hopefully now that Canada day and my vacation has past I will finally get back into the swing of things, until then I can only say I'm sorry for the wait, and enjoy chapter 5, Peanut x**

**Dedicated to Kris, my best friend, my sister. Thank you so much for yet another awesome vacation. I miss you so much already, and can't wait to see you again hopefully in October. Or sooner if the numbers come up!!!!**

Dean fumbled in his haste to get the lock open before the spirit returned once more, he cursed as the steel pick fell from his trembling fingers, his heart fluttering as he realized time was growing short and the repercussions for him and Sam would be dire if he couldn't get himself free. He pushed aside his negative thoughts and battled once more to complete a task that at any other time he would have completed within seconds, willing his heart to calm and his fingers to still, knowing that this would be his last chance. His heart soared as he finally felt the pins turn and heard the click of the lock, the noise sounding harsh and exceptionally loud in the stillness of the cellar. He made quick work of removing the padlock, and thrust the heavy metal door open, and forced his aching body from out of the small confines relishing the freedom to stretch out his cramped limbs, wincing slightly as his burns pulled, the tightened skin stretching and shooting needles of agony resounding around his body. He fought against the need to stop, instead moving quicker to position himself before his brother as the temperature in the room began to fall once again. He set his stance, prepared himself to dispose of the spirit once again, knowing though that this time things would be different, that this time he would have enough time afterwards to reach their belongings and hopefully vanquish the overseer for good.

The spirit roared as he appeared and saw that his prize was loose, as quickly as he had arrived he disappeared once more, reappearing right in front of Dean, it's hands shooting out aiming for the eldest Winchester's throat, but Dean was ready the scythe he had hidden behind his back swinging out and slicing effortlessly through the spirits body. He didn't wait to see the vicious overseer disappear, instead running full tilt for the bags and guns he could see placed haphazardly against the far wall. He skidded to a halt and picked up the first gun he laid his fingers upon, not caring that it was Sam's, knowing his brother's gun was loaded just as well as his own, picking up one of the duffels as well he rushed back his brother's way, hoping that a double blast from the rock salt loaded barrels would incapacitate the spirit longer and allow him the time to find the remains of the sadistic man, having no doubt in his mind that they were down in this torture chamber some where. He stilled as the air once more began to chill around him, preparing himself for the reappearance.

The overseer though had prepared better, maneuvering himself so that he reappeared behind Dean, his misty figure walking easily through the steel bars of Dean's cage before reforming completely. Grasping at the prone and unconscious younger brother, he started to haul Sam to his feet, easily taking his massive weight as his legs refused to support him, causing Dean to spin around at the noise the movement created. "Sonofabitch! Let him go now!" He shouted, his own voice bouncing back at him as it echoed off the walls. He growled deep within his throat as the overseers arm tightened all the more around Sam's throat, and he began to witness his brother's lips turn blue, even in the dim light. He raised the bar, desperate to stop his siblings suffering, but even as he did he knew he couldn't swing at the spirit without hurting Sam, the sadistic torturer having positioned himself behind his brother. Deep down though he also knew he had no choice, broken bones could mend. Aiming for the arm that continued to constrict around Sam, Dean lunged hoping that he could at least disperse the spirit long enough to drop Sam, guilt and remorse eating away at him as he heard the iron crack harshly into Sam's jaw, causing nausea to rise in his throat. He wanted to drop the weapon, wanted to rush to his brother's side, but he knew he didn't have the time, knew that the slightness of the hit would not dissipate the spirit for long, so he took up a stance and waited for the next attack, his strength ebbing with every second that passed.

From the shadows he watched and waited, his anger growing. It should have been so easy, so normal, and yet this time his slaves had rebelled, turning what should have been fun for him, into an agonizing battle of wills. When the younger slave had sliced through him the first time, the pain he had felt had brought back reminders of when he had first left this mortal plain, the recovery time though had been quick, and the pain he had felt he'd channeled into rage and determination to see his slaves suffer all the more; the more his was hit though, the more agonizing the pain, and the more longer the recovery, turning his fun into a fight for survival. He knew given time these two would find a way to halt his pleasure, and that was something he just could not allow. So even though he was weak, even though he knew this needed to be finished, he forced himself to wait. He'd sensed the dimming of his prizes strength and having failed to accomplish his goal previously, had chosen to hide and stalk his victim; seeing the blood seeping from the younger slave, he knew time after all was on his side. He murmured words of nonsense, allowing the walls of the cellar to amplify them, and watched as his victim turned in various directions, confused as to where the sounds were coming from. As his prizes shoulders began to droop, he knew it was time to make his move, stealthily removing himself from the shadows, he aimed for the slaves unprotected back, his hands reaching forward eager to clamp around his preys exposed neck and latch on. He was mere inches away when he felt them, his face contorting in rage as their presence blocked his way, before forcing him to retreat back into the shadows from where he could only watch as they surrounded both slaves and began whispering.

Dean turned blindly this way and that as the words of the overseer began to bounce and echo off what seemed like every wall. He tried to force himself to focus, to gain a direction from which the sounds were coming from, but as the last of his strength dimmed he knew he was about to lose the battle. He felt his shoulders drop, felt the bar in his hand begin to slide, the rusted edges biting into his tender flesh, but he couldn't find the will to stop either; even thoughts of what was about to happen to him, to Sam couldn't stop him from begin to fall into blissful unconsciousness. As his knees began to buckle, he could feel the room begin to chill around him, could sense a presence behind him, but could find no strength to stop the assault, so he braced himself for what was about to come, bewildered when no attack came. As he fell to his brothers side, his eyes drooping closed he sensed goodness and sadness surround him, and tried desperately to remain conscious enough to witness what was causing it, but his body rebelled and he fell into the awaiting darkness.

To be continued. . . . . . . . . . .

**A.N. . . . . . . . . Thanks for being so patient, will be back soon with a new chapter, catch you later, Peanut x**


	6. Chapter 6

**The Plantation House.**

**Summary. . . . . . . . . Missing teens, an old slave plantation, what could possibly go wrong? Dean's about to find out as the brother's take on a hunt he was reluctant to pursue. Hurt Sam and Dean. **

**Disclaimer. . . . . . . . Still only playing in Kripkies toy box.**

**A.N. . . . . . . . . . Okay, well what can I say? I've fallen into a huge slump, writing wise that is, it seems as though I'm in a deep well and I'm struggling to fight my way back out of it, I'm getting there slowly but I have to apologize for the wait for new chapters, and ask you to please bare with me. Thanks Peanut x**

Awareness came back to Dean slowly, the chill of the floor seeping into his bones causing tremors to vibrate throughout his body, exacerbating the pulsating throbs of his injuries. He stifled a groan as he became aware of another presence in the room with him, knowing instinctively that it wasn't Sam; his brothers harsh, wet, struggling breaths coming from beside him, telling him where he lay; so who was it that Dean could sense deep within the shadows? He tried to keep his breathing even, tried not to move a muscle as he inched his head back, and slowly peeled open heavy eyelids. He couldn't stop the gasp though that escaped through his mouth as his eyes finally accustomed to the dark and he finally caught a glimpse of the small figure that flickered and danced in his vision.

Instinctually he grabbed at his prone brother, biting back the pain in his own body he pulled Sam's dead weight closer towards his own chest, desperate to keep his sibling from further pain.

"I's no hurt ya mista." A timid voice softly spoke.

"Yeah! Well forgive me if I don't believe you." Dean spat back, his anger at the situation he and Sam had found themselves in surfacing and making him lash out. He bit his tongue as the apparition drew back from his harsh tone, his mind finally catching up with his anger. Relaxing his hold on Sam, Dean took a deep breath before really looking at the spirit for the first time. Standing at a little over five feet, one leg bent at an awkward angle, his skin the color of milk chocolate, his eyes even in the gloom hinting of the pain he had suffered, stood a boy of about nine or ten; Dean knowing immediately that he too was a victim of the overseer, making his anger at the man soar once again. How could anyone treat a child so? He toned down his voice as he asked. "Who are you? Where is the overseer? What do you want?"

"I's Coffey. We's holdin' Mista Salem back, but we can't hold him long. Ya havta help us Mista."

"What can I do?"

"We's heard about ya Mista. We's know what ya can do. We's jus wanna rest in peace."

"What do you want me to do?" Dean asked again.

"We's want ya to make 'im go way. We's know where he lays."

For the first time Dean felt a glimmer of hope rising, if these spirits knew where the overseer lay then all he had to do was go and salt and burn him, and all this mess would be over, he would be free to get Sam the medical attention he so desperately needed. "Where is he buried?" He asked, his spirits soaring, his aches and pains forgotten. This could be over within minutes.

"We's threw 'im down a well, is not too far, 'cross the field just before the tree line." The small boy answered, his own eyes glimmering with the same hope that shone from Dean's, finally they would be able to rest.

The boys answer though shattered all of Dean's hopes, he had seen how far the tree line had been away from the house, he knew that he could make it there and probably, if he pushed his own pains far enough back, could finish this once and for all; but what about Sam? There was no way on earth that Sam could make it there, and there was no way on earth Dean was gonna leave him alone and unprotected. He looked down on the prone mess that was Sam, his heart breaking with guilt, yet again he had failed to protect him, failed to do what he had been born to do. He looked back at Coffey, wishing he didn't have to take away the longing for rest that was written all over his young features, but he just couldn't leave Sam. "I'm sorry Coffey, I really am, but I can't leave my brother alone to go and finish this." He waited after finishing, sure that his answer would be a disappointing one, but when he chanced a glance at the young boy, he found instead a still smiling figure.

"I's no be alone. We's a look after 'im. He be safe wiv us. Please Mista, you's are only hope."

Torn as to what to do, Dean looked back down at Sam hoping for some glimmer of inspiration. As he looked at his brother though, he knew that he had no choice, he knew that he had to leave, and he knew that if the positions were reversed, Sam would feel the same way. "Promise me Coffey, promise me no more harm will come my brother's way."

"We's a promise Mista, but ya havta hurry, we's can only 'old 'im so long."

Pushing a hand through Sam's hair, Dean whispered a promise to his ailing sibling that he would be back soon with help, before shakily rising to his feet, fighting back against the dizziness that threatened to send him crashing back down and forcing his feet to move forward. He stopped at the overseers table of torture, ignoring the implements that were stained with Sam's blood, and picked out of his own duffle the items he would need to finish this. Making his way over to the stairs he started to climb them, not able to look back at Sam, knowing that if he did so he would be unable to carry on. Reaching the doorway at the top he paused, would it be locked, and therefore all their plans would be faltered? Knowing there was only one way to find out he reached forward and turned the knob, the old wooden door unmoving as he pushed at it. He pounded on the frame in frustration, he had to stop this once and for all, yet the damn door wouldn't budge. Knowing it would hurt, he placed his shoulder against the door and started to push, his scabbing burns protesting, his grunts of pain and cries of joy mixing with the creaking of the wood as it slowly eased open. Whispering one last reassurance to Sam, Dean stepped out into the main house and strode for the front door, one purpose now firmly fixed in his mind.

To Be Continued. . . . . . .

**A.N. . . . . . . Thanks as always for reading, sorry it was a short one. Hope to catch you soon with a new chapter, Peanut x**


	7. Chapter 7

**The Plantation House.**

**Summary. . . . . . . . . Missing teens, an old slave plantation, what could possibly go wrong? Dean's about to find out as the brother's take on a hunt he was reluctant to pursue. Hurt Sam and Dean. **

**Disclaimer. . . . . . . . Still only playing in Kripkies toy box.**

**A.N. . . . . . . . . . Thanks to all who read and enjoyed chapter 6, I hope you enjoy this one also, Peanut x**

It was taking too long, far too long, forever Dean thought as he tripped and fell yet again over an exposed root, the faint rays of moonlight and his flashlight doing little to light his route. He's fallen three times since he had stepped off the rotting porch of the plantation house, and each fall reignited the agony of his injuries and slowed his progress immensely; making his journey to the well seem longer, the pack on his back heavier, and his time away from Sam too much. Needing a distraction he turned to the young boy who was shadowing his movements. Dean had been angry with the ghost when he had first shown up beside him as he routed around the trunk of the Impala for the implements he would need to end this, pissed at the small boy for leaving Sam's side. He'd curbed his anger as the youngster had cowered before him, his voice low and stuttering as he promised the others were watching over Sam, that they would alert Coffey to any danger. They had not spoken since then, but Dean now found himself curious and asked.

"What happened to you Coffey? How did you end up here, you're just a kid?"

"I's borned 'ere Mista Dean." Dean had tried to discourage the small boy from calling him Mister, but years of bowing down to others, and punishments given to others for lack of respect, had ingrained the word in Coffey's mind and nothing Dean could do or say was able to change his ways. "I's borned in one of the slave cabins. I's worked the fields since I's was old enough t' walk. Me an me Pappa and me Momma."

Dean's heart broke as he thought of the life the small boy must have had growing up, his own childhood seeming like a fairytale as he listened to Coffey talk about his life here.

"I's worked 'ard Mista Dean, you's can ask anyone. I's never slacked. I's never punished like t'others. I's work all day." Coffey smiled at his accomplishment, his happiness at being such a good worker increasing the sadness in Dean.

"If you were never punished how did you end up like you are Coffey?" Dean asked, his eyes unable to look away from the small boys broken body; his leg that was twisted and deformed beneath the too short dungarees and dragging along the ground with every step he took; the way his frail and thin chest noticeably caved viciously beneath the threadbare cotton shirt he wore open, the buttons long since lost; his fingers that were grossly swollen and distorted. "What happened to you?"

"T'wasn't me fault Mista, promise. T'wasn't me fault." Coffey cried out, stopping abruptly, his small mind wondering if he told his story would he be believed? Would the man he and the others were relying on continue to help them? He thought back to the cellar and how the older man had fought hard to take the punishment away from the younger, how the older man's hatred of the overseer had shone like a beacon from him. He had to take this chance. He had to tell the truth. He had to place his trust in Mista Dean. "I's always tol' don't go a catchin' Mista Salem's eye Coffey, an I's always tries not to, but this one day I's a caught it anys way."

"I's a playin' wiv Miss Charlotte like I's sometimes allowed to, she's a real pretty an' all, and she's a not treat me like t'other white folk do. We's a playin' in the long grass up near the main house and we's a not see the snake a playin' in there too until it's about ready t' strike. I's a manage t' push Miss Charlotte outta way and scares the snake away, but I's a push too hard and she's a bang 'er head on a rock. Mista Salem was a ridin' his mule up to the main house and a saw me push 'er. He's no believe me when I's a tell 'im what 'appened, he's a just drag me before the Master. Luckily fer me Miss Charlotte stucks up fer me, but Mista Salem 'e mad at not being able t' punish me. He's acts real nice in front of the Master, but when's we leave he's a changed. He's drags me behind t' barns where he's always a punishin' people and starts t' hits me, and kicks me. Me cries musta alerted t'others an they's a not like what they's a see. They's attack Mista Salem ands hands out a punishment of there's own; but it's a too late fer me, he's a done too much a damage. I's thinks I's about t' go t' the place me Momma talks about, but's I's a stay 'ere likes this. I's wants me Momma, Mista Dean. I's wants me Momma."

Dean so badly wanted to make the overseer pay for what he had done not only to him and Sam, but to all the other victims he had punished over the years. He wanted to be able to take the small boy into his arms and offer him the comfort that he so wanted and deserved. Wiping at wet eyes he chose instead to place a hand where the boy's wavering forms shoulder would have been and spoke, his voice filled with determination. "You'll see your Momma soon Coffey, I promise you." Turning away from the little boys eyes he strode with even more purpose towards his goal.

Arriving at the well Dean realized the enormity of the task ahead. Years of growth had covered the metal plate the slaves had used to place over the opening, and Dean found himself thankful he had thought to bring a shovel along with him from the trunk. He thought back to the phone conversation he had just had with Bobby as he prepared himself for the job that now lay before him, and wished that the older hunter was closer than the four hours away that he was, wished that he was here to help, his own aching and weary body quivering at the punishment he was about to place upon it. Digging the shovel into the dirt he was pleased to at least note that the earth was easy to cut through, even if it didn't lessen the agony the movement caused throughout his frame. By the time he heard the blessed sound of metal meeting metal he was sweating profusely and running almost on empty. He looked at Coffey as he placed his fingers underneath the metal plate and asked. "Is Sammy still okay?"

"T'other's say he's a still wiv us, but's ya havta hurry, they's a can't 'old Mista Salem backs much longer."

Dean's heart leapt into his throat at the thought of Sam being alone with that sadistic bastard, his aches and pains deserting him as he knew he needed to concentrate on the task at hand and remove this last obstacle . The weight of the metal was too much though for his tired body and he found his strength waning, and the metal falling back down to the ground. He cursed and tried again only to gain the same result.

"Hurry Mista Dean. T'other's have lost there power, he's no want Mista Sam, he's a comin' here. Hurry."

Dean placed his fingers again beneath the metal renewed energy flowing through him at the thought that Sam would for now be left alone, but for how long? This had to end, and it had to end now! He cried out in relief as at long last the metal plate began to rise allowing him to gain further purchase beneath it. He pushed with what little strength he had left and was eventually rewarded as the plate toppled over and the well was at long last revealed. He made quick work of salt the whole shaft of the well, using way more than necessary to make sure the job was done, following it with a massive dose of lighter fluid . He took out the box of matches and struck one, allowing the flame to lick and ignite the others in the pack before holding his arm out to drop the flame. Hands though prevented him. Hands that encircled his throat and cut off his air. Hands that belonged to a body that began to pull him away from the well. As darkness encroached on his vision, Dean knew he had but one chance. Allowing his eyes to leave those of the overseer, he judged the distance to the well, and with his last bit of strength threw the flames towards the opening. As his vision weakened even further, and his body began to shut down the hands encircling his throat relaxed and Dean found himself unceremoniously dropped to the ground, a screeching pain filled cry the last thing he heard before unconsciousness claimed him.

To be continued. . . . . . . . . . . .

**A.N. . . . . . . . . . Thanks as always for reading, will catch you soon with chapter 8, Peanut x**


	8. Chapter 8

**The Plantation House.**

**Summary. . . . . . . . . Missing teens, an old slave plantation, what could possibly go wrong? Dean's about to find out as the brother's take on a hunt he was reluctant to pursue. Hurt Sam and Dean. **

**Disclaimer. . . . . . . . Still only playing in Kripkies toy box.**

**A.N. . . . . . . . . The muse seems to be slowly working it's way back to me, there's still too long between chapters though and for that I can only apologize. I hope you enjoy chapter 8, catch you soon, Peanut x**

Bobby chucked his cell phone onto the passenger seat of his car, his hand slamming against the worn leather of the steering wheel in anger. He'd tried numerous times since leaving his own hunt, after speaking with Dean, to get the eldest Winchester back on the phone, only to be disappointed each time as the line connected to the answering service. He had a bad feeling about this, Dean had refused to go into details only saying that his help was desperately needed; for him to now be unreachable did not bode well. He picked up the map that was laying beside him and juggled it so that he could read it without taking his eyes off the road for too long; he had a feeling stopping to peruse his whereabouts would take up precious few minutes the Winchester's didn't have, as would an accident to himself. Figuring he was about half an hour out he placed his foot harder upon the gas, and pushed his old engine on.

He drove past the entrance to the plantation houses grounds twice, having to maneuver up dirt roads to turn back around before he spotted the overgrown driveway, the mosses from the surrounding trees having invaded upon the gravel over the years; it's spongy texture springing back and hiding also the tracks made by the Impala days earlier. With care he inched his car forward until in the distance he spotted the dark outline of Dean's baby and the foreboding presence of the house itself, a smaller building just peeking out from the side, illuminated by a blood red moon. A shiver ran down his spine as he cautiously exited the warm confines of his vehicle, a shiver that he knew was not created by the chill that rode upon the breeze. Immediately on guard he pulled his prepared bag out from the back seat and readied his shotgun before starting to walk through the overgrown grass towards the building, the nighttime dew soaking his jeans. Creepy, it really wasn't a good enough word, but Bobby's brain couldn't come up with a better one to describe the run down structure. Windows covered most of the upper floor, some boarded up, others little more than frames hanging loosely from rusted nails allowing the wind to blow into the rooms, ragged curtains flapping through long since broken glass. A rotten wooden porch ran around two sides of the house, it's banisters and spindles covered in more moss, small shrubs and bracken, and resting at awkward angles in places. Shadows danced in the moon light creating movement that resembled people, and forcing Bobby to be ever more cautious as he crept even closer towards the ghostly dwelling. He cringed as he placed his foot upon the first step and a loud creak echoed through the night; waiting until he was sure nothing was stirring before continuing on, his foot just resting upon the porch as he began to feel the chill deepen. He steadied himself for the attack, ready to defend himself at a moments notice, his finger tightening on the trigger as an apparition shimmered into focus in front of him, managing to stop himself from shooting as it softly spoke.

"Mista, 'e's this way. Ya havta 'elp 'im." Coffey turned after speaking and started floating towards the overseer's grave, constantly looking back to reassure himself the man was following, hurrying all the more when Bobby finally decided to take a chance.

Bobby hoped that he wasn't making a huge mistake as he followed the young spirit away from the house, yet something was telling him to trust the boy. He chased after the fleeing spirit as he easily walked through the tall stalks of corn growing wildly in the meadows, his unease lessening as in the distance he spotted a faint glow of reddish light.

"Hurry Mista, 'e needs ya."

Knowing he would receive no answer if he asked a question, Bobby decided it would be quicker to just follow. He felt the heat before he witnessed the flames, his old legs pressing on that bit faster. He pushed through a few bushes surrounding the fields and stopped in shock at the sight that greeted him. Flames rose highly from the grave Dean had obviously dug, the wind teasing them towards the branches that hung nearby, several of the drier leaves already alight. It was the outline of a figure on the far side of the grave that got Bobby's attention though, and ignoring the fire he strode quickly towards it. He dropped to his knees in front of a prone Dean, his trembling fingers reaching for his exposed neck, his lungs releasing a held in breath as the vein throbbed beneath his touch. He tapped at Dean's cheek hoping for a response but gaining nothing, feeling the need to awaken Dean and find get his help to find out where Sam was, Bobby rubbed his knuckles cruelly across his sternum, a sigh escaping him as Dean groaned and tried to move away in response.

"Dean, c'mon son, ya need to wake up." As Dean's eyes continued to stay closed, Bobby used a dirty tactic. "Dean, Sam needs you. He's hurting somewhere and I need your help to find him" Speaking Sam's name produced the reaction Bobby was hoping for as Dean's head rolled from side to side, a groan escaping his mouth as though the movement cost him so much, and his eyes slowly began to open.

Dean was floating. Floating on a sea of comfort and calmness, free from pain and all thoughts, just happily drifting along. He pushed away from the annoyance that threatened to disrupt his happy existence, content to just lay there and drift; when the annoyance grew in strength though, igniting an uncomfortable feeling within him, he began to take notice. When the annoyance began to speak, it piqued his curiosity, when it uttered his brother's name his curiosity turned to worry, that one word chasing away all his happy drifting, turning it into pure panic. He began to struggle awake, the pain he had been keeping at bay returning. He moved his head towards the voice, that small movement causing a groan to escape, he struggled to open his eyes the need to see Sam for himself all consuming; but when he finally succeeded in raising his lids to mere slits, Sam's face wasn't the one looming over him, and the panic he had been feeling intensified.

"B. . .Bobby? What ya doin' 'ere?" Dean slurred.

"Ya called me son, I said I was on my way."

"Yeah but you said you would be two hours or more." Dean replied, his voice getting stronger as a niggling doubt began to fester inside of him, Bobby's next words confirming his fears and increasing his worry.

"It's been almost three hours since we spoke Dean." Bobby paused at seeing the color drain from Dean's face, before adding. "Dean, where's Sam?"

"Crap, I left him. I left him alone Bobby. He was in a bad way and I needed to stop this, so I left him. I must have fallen asleep, how could I be so selfish and stupid?" He struggled to rise, ignoring Bobby's comments of staying put in his need to get back to Sam. "You don't get it Bobby, we need to get back to the house. Sam could be. . . . . . . . ." He trailed off unable to finish what he was thinking, but Bobby figured it out anyway, thrusting out his arm for Dean to grab a hold of and pulling the wobbling Winchester to his feet.

"Don't ya go blamin' ya self. Ya did what ya had to do. And don't count out that brother of your's just yet either. If there's one thing I have learned about you Winchester's, it's that you're one hell of a stubborn bunch. He'll be fine Dean you'll see." Bobby spoke, hoping that his words were true, but truth be told he was worried. Things here must have turned seriously bad if Dean had resorted to leaving Sam behind. He felt an urgency grow, the need to find the youngest Winchester increasing. Focusing back on Dean he added. "Lead the way, let's go find that brother of your's."

To be continued. . . . . . . . . . .

**A.N. . . . . . . . . . As always thanks for stopping by and taking time to read, will be back soon with a new chapter, Peanut x**


	9. Chapter 9

**The Plantation House.**

**Summary. . . . . . . . . Missing teens, an old slave plantation, what could possibly go wrong? Dean's about to find out as the brother's take on a hunt he was reluctant to pursue. Hurt Sam and Dean. **

**Disclaimer. . . . . . . . Still only playing in Kripkies toy box**

**A.N. . . . . . . . . . . Still trying to get back into the swing of things writing wise, but I'm slowly getting there. Thanks for sticking with me whilst I struggled along, catch you all again soon, Peanut x**

By the time Dean and Bobby had finally made it back to the dilapidated old house, the younger hunter's reserves were almost drained, the lack of sleep coupled with his injuries and shock had created within him a tiredness that was threatening to drag his body completely under; only the fact that they had no idea if Sam was still alive was pushing him on against the pain. He kept up a mantra quietly to himself, a mantra meant to keep him moving, yet a mantra he believed in firmly; he couldn't, wouldn't give up on the hope that Sam was okay, he just had to be. He stumbled up the rotten stairs, brushing off Bobby's offer of help he righted himself before striding with as much confidence as he could muster back into the place that had been his and Sam's prison. He moved quickly through the downstairs of the house this time, not caring at how much noise he made as his need to get to Sam increased, causing him to practically fall down the basement steps in his haste.

He halted at the foot of the stairs, his eyes taking a few minutes to adjust to the gloom, and his mind slow in reminding him of the whereabouts of his cage. Slowly though he began to pick out shapes and he started to move, his way becoming easier as the gloom began to recede and the light in the room brightened. He turned to Bobby wondering if the older hunter had turned on a flashlight, only to find that wasn't the case. Turning back he moved forward with trepidation, his eyes widening as the source of the light became known. A group of spirits surrounded Sam, and Dean for a second was unsure if they meant his brother harm. He lifted the shotgun Bobby had passed him earlier ready to shoot, only to lower it as Coffey's form materialized from the pack.

"E's not doin' so well Mista Dean. E's a 'urtin' bad. Ya gotta 'elp 'im."

Dean rushed forward, ignoring the chills that shook him as he ran through the essences of the spirits, his focus solely fixed on Sam. Dropping to his knees, he reached forward with trembling digits searching for a pulse he prayed to God would still be there, a smile lighting up his face as he found an all be it weak beat beneath his fingers.

"He's alive Bobby." He shouted over his shoulder before turning to his side and with teary eyes adding. "Thank you." To Coffey. "I have to get him to a hospital, but I will return and make sure you and the others are set free from this place, I promise."

"We's believes ya Mista Dean. We's waited this long, we's can a wait a little longer. You's jus' takes care of Mista Sammy. We's a still be 'ere."

Dean turned back to his friend. "I need your help Bobby, I can't lift him on my own." Needing no further prompting Bobby rushed forward and helped Dean lift the prone and unconscious younger Winchester. Together they struggled back up the stairs and through the dusty house, back through the broken off door and down the rotten steps, Dean's feet just touching the first blades of overgrown grass before his own body succumb to weariness, and it was all Bobby could do to stop Sam falling on top of his sibling as Dean crashed to the dew damp earth

SNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNS

Heat. Surrounding him like a boa, constricting all movement, making breathing hard. He wanted to dive back down into unconsciousness and the cooling breeze that lurked there, where everything was pain free and calming; but something niggled at his mind, tugging him ever closer to the heat. He figured he must have mumbled, or moved, or maybe even gasped in pain, because all of a sudden a shadow moved across him blocking the harsh light from his closed eyelids. He felt a hand grasp his and hold on tight, encouraging him to make that final push back into the wakening, but the lull to drop back down was too much and he could feel himself slipping once again; something about the touch though prevented him from falling completely, something oddly unfamiliar, something that told him it wasn't his brother doing the comforting, something that jolted in him a need to find out why and what was wrong. He forced himself back to the surface, and willed heavy eyes to open, forcing them back closed as the brightness of the room ignited pain within him that sent his stomach on a roller coaster ride, that sent it's meager contents gushing for the nearest exit, and fiery spikes of agony vibrating throughout his frame with every heave. He gladly accepted the cool glass of water that was touched to his dry and cracked lips, swilling the vile taste away and spitting it into the bowl that was placed beside him. He took a few sips to ease his sore throat before resting his aching head back onto the softness of the pillow, only when he had done so did he attempt yet again to open his eyes, discouraged and concerned when it was Bobby face that lingered before him and not Sam's.

"Sammy?" He inquired, not missing the hesitant look that crossed the older hunters features before he looked away. " Bobby, what's wrong? Where's Sammy?" His heart beating faster, thumping against his chest so hard he was sure it was about to burst through.

"Dean, son, I need ya to calm down. You aint gonna be any use to Sam if ya take another turn for the worst."

"Where's Sammy?" Dean tried again, managing to calm himself at least enough to get the words out once more, gaining a nod that went over his head from Bobby in return. Ignoring the pain that reignited within him, Dean managed to turn over, capturing for the first time a look at the other bed he hadn't even realized was in the room, and the brother that lay deathly pale and still upon it, surrounded by banks of equipment, IV's running into both arms, and a dreaded tube snaking it's way into his mouth. He tried to get up, tried to make his way over to make sure for himself that Sam was okay, realizing straight away just how difficult a task that was going to be as he meager strength gave out and he crashed back onto the pillow once more.

"Dean, ya stubborn idjit. What the hell d'ya think ya doin'?"

"I need to get to Sam. I need to make sure he's okay."

"He's doing as well as can be expected considering the shit that bastard put him through."

"Tell me!"

"Dean." Bobby drew out.

"Tell me!"

"Dean maybe this should wait until you're feeling a bit better."

"Please Bobby, tell me what's wrong with Sam."

Bobby looked away from eyes, that at times, rivaled Sam's at times. He knew he would have to tell Dean the bad news, but a part of him wanted to keep the news a secret at least for a little while longer. He coughed and cleared his throat before answering. His jaw was badly bruised but luckily not broken; he has deep cuts and burns from the shackles around his wrists; his throat is bruised and swollen, which is the reason for the intubation, they were worried it would swell too much and close of his airway; the knife wounds whilst deep and causing a lot of blood loss, didn't hit any of his major arteries or organs, they stitched them and dressed them and they will heal in time as will the whip marks he sustained to his back, they'll be uncomfortable for him for a while and they look terrible but. . . . . . . . ."

"But what?"

"They're not what the doctors are most worried about."

"And what are they worried about?"

Bobby coughed again before continuing. "They're worried about the head wound and the resulting concussion Dean. They think. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . They think that there could be some lasting brain damage." Bobby watched as Dean paled significantly before him. "He'll be fine Dean, he's a fighter, he'll bounce back."

"You don't know that, you can't tell me that. He couldn't hear me when we were locked up down there. What if. . . . . . . . . . . . . ."

"What if what?"

Dean looked back over at Sam, his eyes moistening as he thought about his siblings plight, he looked back at Bobby adding. "What if it's permanent?"

**A.N. . . . . . . . . Okay, so I know you're all gonna hate me but this is where this fic is gonna end. For now! Don't worry though as there will be a sequel, that will deal with Sam's injuries and Coffey. I just need to get a couple more fics finished first so that I can give my whole concentration to it. At least this way they'll be no huge waits for chapter updates. I hope you understand, catch you soon, Peanut x**


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